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Effusive eulogies and memorials followed the Jan. 26, 1839 death of Stephen Van Rensselaer III, the last Patroon of Rensselaerwyck describing him as charitable, civic-minded, and a lenient landlord. Coming into his inheritance of 1,200 square miles in Albany, Rensselaer and Columbia counties at age 5 in 1763, he had become one of the richest men in the United States of that era.

His wealth came from hundreds of tenant farmers on his patroonship. These farmers were locked into perpetual leases for their farms, expected to pay the annual rent of four fowls, 10 or more bushels of wheat depending upon the acreage of the farm, and a day’s labor for the landlord with a team and wagon.

If the tenant farmer wished to move on, he was expected to have rent paid up and in addition give to the patroon one quarter of the money received for buildings and improvements he or an ancestor had made on the land. A tremendous number of tenant farmers were arrears in rent with no prospect of moving on.

That same day in January 1839 as Stephen Van Rensselaer III’s death, 32-year-old Dr. Frederick Crounse of Knowersville would likely have set out on his rounds to visit seriously ill patients in Guilderland and the Helderberg Hilltowns assuming midwinter snowdrifts didn’t block his way. Almost all of his patients were tenant farmers who would be affected by Van Rensselaer’s death. Dr. Crounse had become very familiar with the difficulties facing the tenant farmers on Van Rensselaer lands.

Dr. Crounse’s medical training was typical for a country doctor. As was common to prepare for a career in medicine at that time, he first studied classical languages with Rev. Adam Crounse, Lutheran pastor in Sharon where he was born, then moved on to the study of medicine first under the direction of Dr. Miller at Sharon and then Dr. White at Cherry Valley.

Next he traveled to Herkimer for some formal medical education at Fairfield Medical College where he attended three courses of medical lectures. After practicing medicine for two years in New Scotland, Dr. Crounse had moved to Knowersville where he built his home and a small two-room office on the Schoharie Road property.

Dr. Crounse began his practice when the nation was in the era of Jacksonian democracy, yet this section of New York was locked in feudalism with Van Rensselaer, the Livingstons, and others living on the rents from tenant farmers who were locked into perpetual leases very difficult to break unless a tenant took a loss on the labors of establishing his farm.

Stephen Van Rensselaer III’s ancestor Kiliaen Van Rensselaer had been granted this huge area by the Dutch West India Company 200 years earlier in 1629 on the condition he would bring over settlers to aid in populating the colony of New Netherland. His incentive was to be his and his descendants’ profit to be made from the collection of annual rents paid by these tenant farmers.

And, as long as later landlords had supported the Patriot cause, after the Revolution these estates were left intact, the rents untaxed.

At Stephen Van Rensselaer III’s death, he was deeply in debt due to his extravagant living and investments failing as the result of the Panic of 1837, a period of economic depression. His will divided Rensselaerwyck between two sons: William inherited the land in Rensselaer and Columbia counties while Stephen IV came into possession of Albany County, including a large number of farms in Guilderland. His sons were directed to collect all the back rents to pay off their father’s debts.

Farmers who had settled on the fertile lowland farms usually had little trouble making their annual rent payments, unlike the unfortunate farmers in the Helderbergs who struggled to raise crops in an area of thin, rocky soil and harsh climate. These tenants were frequently in arrears in their rent payments. Since Stephen Van Rensselaer III hadn’t forced payment of back rents, at the time of his death there were rents owed with a value of almost half-a-million dollars.

As Stephen Van Rensselaer IV, who had inherited the west half of his father’s manor including Guilderland and the Hilltowns, faced the prospect of paying off his share of the large debts owed by his father’s estate, his agents set out to collect back rents or evict farmers from their farms. Angry farmers reacted by forming committees and holding protest meetings.

Even farmers who were up to date on rent payments joined in, fed up with the unfair rents and lease system. A committee of tenants attempted to actually meet with Stephen Van Rensselaer IV to discuss the rents, but he insisted on written communications, which he promptly rejected. In response, farmers held a giant anti-rent meeting in Berne on July 4, 1839.

As his agents appeared with writs demanding payment or eviction from the farms, farmers responded by donning calico dresses and masks with feathers. Signaling each other over the miles by blowing tin horns whenever a Van Rensselaer agent showed up, neighbors gathered to harass the man or in some cases a sheriff and deputies. The Anti-Rent Wars had begun, carried on by “Calico Indians” hostile to any authorities attempting to collect rent or evict tenants.

As Dr. Crounse’s practice took him all over the Helderbergs, he not only treated the sick, but encouraged and sympathized with the aggrieved tenant farmers. His attitude was that the practice of long leases and tenant farming was a feudal system that had no place in a democratic republic.

He would have encouraged further resistance against Stephen Van Rensselaer IV and the authorities sent out against the farmers. However, he was also likely to have been aware that middle- and upper-class Albanians were deeply concerned about lawlessness, holding negative opinions about some of the activities of the masked, Calico “Indians” that were taking place and may have counseled some restraint.

The resistance to rent payments spread to other areas of eastern New York. The Anti-Renters in their disguises of calico and masks, signaling with their tin horns, began using guerilla tactics against county sheriffs and their deputies. At one point, Albany Country Sheriff Christopher Batterman from Hamilton (now Hamlet of Guilderland) was surprised by “Indians” as he and his deputies traveled to Berne to serve eviction papers.

He and his men were dragged from their wagon, disarmed, and the eviction notices burned. Batterman was asked what he would do if the situation were reversed. He replied, “I’d kill you as quick as I would a black snake.”

Batterman  and his men were reported to have been made to jump three times shouting, “Down with  the rent!” Further humiliation was inflicted by tarring and feathering them, tying them up, and placing them in their wagon and sending them on their way back to Albany.

Violence spread in other areas such as Delaware County where an undersheriff was killed at an eviction sale, but it did not reach such extremes in Albany County.

What really won the day for the farmers was not violence, but political action, and this was where Dr. Crounse became actively involved. A State Anti-Rent Convention was called in January 1845 to meet at Berne’s Lutheran Church.

In spite of the bitter winter weather, an estimated 200 delegates from 11 counties attended. The convention chairman was Dr. Crounse, an Anti-Renter of longstanding. Opening the convention, Dr. Crounse spoke words to the effect that the Patriots fought the Revolution to end tyrannical rule and yet it still was present in New York’s Hudson Valley. The time for change had come.

The Convention’s delegates had a more moderate approach to solving the problem than the Anti-Renters in disguises. Realizing they could accomplish more by political action than violence, they wrote up demands, including legislation to curtail landlords’ powers and to tax their rents.

Resolutions and speeches were copied and sent to the governor. Newspapers also received copies. Readers were impressed by the reasonable approach of the Berne Convention’s members, helping to bring about more favorable attitudes in the general community. Convention delegates also vowed to support only political candidates favorable to their cause and agreed to begin printing a weekly Anti-Rent newspaper in Albany.

A year later, Dr. Crounse was a member of a committee that met across the street from the State Capitol and was part of the delegation making a presentation to the legislators outlining their demands for legislative relief. The legislature put many of their demands into law with the approval of the sympathetic Governor John Young.

This was the beginning of the end of the manor system and the unfair lengthy farm leases, a process that went on for many years. In addition, judicial decisions also helped the farmers.

While the actions of the calico-clad “Indians” in Albany County took place in the Hilltowns, people in Guilderland and New Scotland supported their fellow leaseholders. The late Guilderland town historian Arthur Gregg quotes an 1848 document in Dr. Crounse’s handwriting, calling upon anti-renters in the town of Guilderland to meet at the Inn of Harmon Best (location unknown) to choose an Anti-Rent Whig candidate for the office of town supervisor.

And what about Stephen Van Rensselaer IV? By 1852, he had decided to give up after his efforts to come to some sort of agreement with angry tenants had failed.

Worn down, he sold the rights to the West Manor leases to a speculator named Walter S. Church who continued to threaten many farmers with legal action during most years of the 19th Century because many leases remained legally valid.

The decade of the 1840s was a turbulent time in eastern New York with the aristocrat-tenant farmer conflict earning it the name “Anti-Rent Wars.” Guilderland’s own Dr. Crounse helped to bring success to the tenant farmers in eventually winning support from the governor, legislators and members of the public.

The process of ending a system that had no place in democratic America had begun, but unfortunately stretched on for many years.

I love meeting new people because all people are interesting in one way or another. Truly, meeting new people adds spice to life, just like hot sauce on chili.

The best is when I get to meet an Interesting Person. That’s like winning the game for me. But what makes for an Interesting Person? Fair question.

Let’s start with what makes a person not interesting. Imagine it’s blistering hot and sweltering humid. You know, like a typical day in Florida. If someone comes up to you and says “Hot enough for ya?,” you can be sure that is not an Interesting Person.

An Interesting Person knows it is indeed hot enough, and that there is no reason to ask such an obvious question. Trust me: If it’s hot enough for you, it’s hot enough for me.

If you are a teacher of any kind, you are automatically an Interesting Person. You know in your heart that children are the future, and you know in that regard that you have great responsibility.

However, when you see kids who are obviously having problems at home, or kids with ridiculously demanding parents, or school districts with no funding, it just breaks your heart. If all that doesn’t make you interesting, nothing will.

Any kind of musician or singer is an Interesting Person. While we all love music, it’s the ones who put in the endless hours of practice to do it well that make it possible for us to enjoy it in the first place. Since I’ve started to play a little, I have a newfound respect for anyone who plays anything.

In the same vein, the confidence of a singer who goes out there and bleeds from the heart is truly awe-inspiring. Musicians are by default Interesting Persons.

A lot of us have hobbies. Some common ones are gardening, woodworking, and model railroading. Having a hobby is pretty ordinary, but some people take their hobbies to the next level.

I had a friend who had a large, tiered garden that was so fantastic he could have charged admission. I have other friends who build fantastic woodworking projects, and others who create intricate and detailed model railroads. To spend so much time and money on your hobby like that, where you are really devoted to it, makes you an Interesting Person in my mind.

If you are lucky, you have some friends who really get into cooking and entertaining. I know a couple who just “whip together” gourmet meals and baked goods like it was nothing. They make it look so easy, I wonder why we don’t do it in my house (probably because it’s not that easy).

These people do it up right: the proper place settings and serving ware, elegantly simple yet tasteful recipes, pairing the wine, etc. Plus their house looks like it could be in a magazine. When you can cook, clean, and entertain like that — and make it look so easy — you are interesting for sure.

If you’ve been reading my column for any length of time you know that I love to read. I’ve been averaging a book a week for many years, and I wish I had time to read even more. If you love to read as well, you are automatically an Interesting Person.

Why? Because, by reading and getting others’ perspectives on anything and everything, you will be better able to consider and hopefully understand the many nuances that are part of life. You’re the kind of person who knows that it’s not all black and white, but infinite shades of gray. Yes you, the voracious reader, are the very definition of an Interesting Person, and I heartily salute you.

I love this quote from H. Jackson Brown Jr., the author of “Life’s Little Instruction Book”: “Never make fun of someone who speaks broken English. It means they know another language.”

Being multilingual makes for a very interesting person indeed. Because different languages use different thought constructs and word patterns, people who speak another language literally think differently.

Don’t even get me started on tonal languages like Mandarin. Imagine what thinking in that language must be like. If you can speak more than one language, or translate, you are not only interesting but in high demand. Good for you.

Motorcycle riders are very interesting. I’ve met a ton of them and I can say without doubt that every motorcycle rider out there is just a friend I haven’t met yet.

If I go to a party and meet another motorcycle rider, I’m good for the rest of the evening. Everyone has their own reasons for riding, and I never get tired of talking about it.

If you’ve gotten soaked or crashed or broken down somewhere, or just felt like you were flying through the air with the sun at your back and the wind in your face, you have my undivided attention, always.

Artists, I don’t care what the medium is, are interesting. That someone can be so creative is just amazing. The enjoyment of art, prose, music, sculpting, photography, etc., is what makes life worth living.

It’s not always easy for creative people to be creative, because they simultaneously have to come up with some way to pay the bills while doing it. I find creative people to be very interesting, and I’m glad to share the world with them.

I don’t believe in war and prefer diplomacy first, always. Having said that, I do find our dedicated military personnel to be interesting by default, and I heartily thank them for their service. I can’t imagine what being in combat must be like.

Same goes for police, fire, rescue, etc. It’s dangerous, stressful work but someone has to do it. I’m sure they all have their stories, many of which we’d have a hard time even imagining. Those are surely interesting people.

I avoid any medical TV shows or stories, and I try to stay out of doctors’ offices as much as I can. That’s the main reason I try to exercise every day.

Still, I know health care professionals have it tough, which makes them interesting people. My daughter is a nurse, and what she goes through on a daily basis is just unreal.

Any time you’re dealing with life and death is, at the very least, interesting in many ways. My hat is off to all the overworked medical professionals out there, especially in this awful COVID period that never seems to end.

If you are a small-business owner, you know all about struggling through ups and downs, trying to pay all your bills, endless regulations, theft (both internal and external), and so many other things that come with the territory.

I’m so inspired when small-business owners put their heart and soul into it, for our benefit. That is interesting and worthy of our admiration, certainly. Thanks to you all.

I grew up in the city, so I don’t have firsthand knowledge of farming. I know that farming now is done by big corporations, yet some family farms still survive.

If you are a farmer, you know you are totally dependent on the weather, and that there is no such thing as a day off because the work never stops. Truly, farming families that work so hard and strive to keep it going are interesting in many ways. They are the heart and soul of the country. My hat is off to them.

Finally, let me end with some very interesting people, judges. I don’t know about you, but many times both sides of the story make sense to me, making it very difficult choosing which way to go.

Like, is it OK to eat the last endangered animal if you’re starving? Judges train to make these decisions in as fair a manner as possible, keeping the law in mind and yet trying to have a heart at the same time.

I admire judges very, very much. That kind of work can’t be easy, and it certainly makes them very interesting people.

In looking over this list, it seems most of the people I find interesting are people who work. How interesting, pardon the pun.

Maybe because I’ve been in the workforce for 50 years and am finally approaching retirement has something to do with it. In any case, I just know that people who get up every day to support themselves and their families are the lifeblood of this country, and will always have my utmost admiration and respect.

Hot enough for ya?

When my parents and later just my father were living in Guilderland, my little brother from Florida visited many times, spending thousands of dollars on plane tickets and hotels. I promised him that, once our parents were gone, my lovely wife and I would visit him in Florida.

Well, we just got back from that long anticipated trip. Our nearly two weeks in the sunshine state featured family, friends, and relaxation, with a little bit of frustration (uncontrollable sneezing and coughing will do that to you).

My wife would have preferred to fly. Not me. Since they removed all the legroom on planes and ramped up the security screenings, it’s just too much of a hassle to fly now.

I would have preferred driving down in a sexy rented car like a Mustang. I lost that battle, unfortunately. Driving down in a Honda had no jazz to it, but it worked out.

When you drive down south in the winter, things don’t start to change until you hit Virginia. All of a sudden, you no longer need that winter jacket. You can easily identify all the other escaping snowbirds not by their license plates, but by how dirty their cars are. I thought that was really funny.

Have you ever seen those ubiquitous “South of the Border” bumper stickers? Turns out that is a tourist trap in South Carolina, located just over the border from North Carolina. The place is huge with many different types of activities.

I purchased a couple of cheap wind-up cars for the grandkids. When these cars hit the wall, they flip over backwards multiple times — very entertaining. Had I known how much fun they are, I would have bought a bunch more.

We needed to do a 750-mile day, stay in a hotel, and then do a 550-mile day to reach our vacation rental. Sounds like a lot but the speed limit on I-95 is 70, and you get passed going 80, so you can really make some time.

One thing that kind of shocked me is, all of a sudden, there is The Pentagon, just sitting right out there. Should our most important military installation be so out in the open that any nudnik driving by on the major north-south East Coast thoroughfare can’t miss it? Not so sure about that.

If you’re lucky, when you book your hotel, you can get one with a “free” breakfast. Of course it’s not free, but it is convenient to have everything you need in one location.

Many of these hotels right off of I-95 have really odd quirks: sounds in the plumbing, temperature either really hot or really cold, beds that sag in the middle, etc. Still, when all you need is a bed for a single night, you can’t beat them.

The vacation rental my daughter got for the family was incredible. Six bathrooms, seven bedrooms, hot tub, pool, game room, and big-screen TVs all over the place. Not cheap but, if you get enough people and split the cost, it’s not much more than getting separate normal hotel rooms.

So the rental and the location — right outside of Orlando — was not the problem for me. The problem was the pollen.

Apparently you can develop allergies as you get older. I never had allergies my entire life, but in the last few years I’ve clearly become more allergic.

My first two days in Florida, I was blowing my nose, coughing, and sneezing so badly I couldn’t use my CPAP [continuous positive airway pressure] machine. That means I couldn’t sleep, either. Needless to say, I was miserable.

Yes, it was enjoyable to have sunny and 85-degree temperatures in the beginning of February while it was -15F in Guilderland. Still, if I’d have been home, I wouldn’t have been suffering at all. You can always throw on another blanket, no matter how cold it gets, but you can’t get rid of pollen.

A trip to a local pharmacy got me a smorgasbord of painkillers, decongestants, allergy pills, and cough medicines. Gradually, I was able to adjust to the tropical climate, but I have never liked the humidity down there, and combined with the pollen, I can’t say I look forward to returning.

If it weren’t for my family loving all the touristy stuff, I’d probably never go there again, since there are just so many other nice places to visit where I wouldn’t get sick.

The modus operandi in Florida seems to be: Buy up hundreds of acres of swampland and build a gated community featuring luxury rentals for tourists. Our rental literally backed up to a swamp.

All week long, we’d see big birds like cranes and herons walking around, sometimes even in the middle of the street. Can you imagine what they are thinking: “What the heck happened to our habitat? And why are we having to eat dirty, flattened McDonald’s french fries off the street now?”

Very strange, but if you “follow the money,” as they say, you’ll understand.

You know how it costs hundreds of dollars for theme-park tickets? Well, leave it to Disney for making money from those of us who have no interest in rides and such.

They now have these “boardwalk” areas that have free admission, featuring every possible store and restaurant you could ever imagine. These places were jammed, and there must be no recession down there, as people were spending money hand over fist. Wow.

My wife did some grocery shopping. She said prices were two or three times higher than what we usually pay. When a six-pack of diet soda costs the same as a six-pack of beer, you know they are really marking it up.

They wouldn’t do it if they couldn’t get away with it. I guess the lure of fun and sun in the dead of winter trumps everything, no pun intended.

For me, the best part of the trip was getting to visit friends all up and down the East Coast. My on-the-ball wife cleverly used mapping software to plot out our visits to maximize efficiency. It was wonderful.

In fact, next winter, I’d be fine with skipping Florida and just taking a long road trip to visit warm-weather friends. Often they will act as local tour guides and show you all the good places. You can’t beat that with a baseball bat.

If you do find yourself in Florida, consider visiting Saint Augustine, which is the oldest city in the United States. They have no franchises or chain stores, by design. When I was there, I felt like I was in a charming New England small town; it was that great. I’d go back there in a heartbeat. Just a wonderful place to be.

Altogether, we drove 3,202 miles. I know most people think that’s crazy, when you can fly to Florida in a couple of hours. But, when you add in visiting friends along the way, attending other local attractions here and there, and getting to listen to some great audiobooks on the long drive (“Bel Canto” by Ann Patchett, a fantastic romance/thriller, and “A Marriage Made in Heaven” by Erma Bombeck, so funny and true) the trip, though tiring, was still a lot of fun.

Still, after almost two weeks on the road, it sure was great to finally be home. That’s when we found out that the condensate pump on the furnace had failed while we were away, resulting in a partially wet basement. You can’t ever beat Murphy’s Law, but you knew that already, haha.

So now we’re back in Guilderland, without sneezing, coughing, or headaches, and paying normal grocery prices again. Good to be back home.

Most people have moved at one point or another in their lives. Some haven’t. And some have made a career out of it.

When I was young, my dad was a corporate lawyer, so every couple of years we packed up and moved like classic Army brats, only on a cushier level. By the time I graduated from college, my family had moved six times.

I attended two different elementary schools, two junior highs, one high school, and one college. After I graduated, they moved again but I stayed put. And then I ended up moving four more times before I finally settled in Altamont at age 29 and swore, never again.

Fast forward about 30 years and guess what, we just moved again. And this one, hopefully, will be it. Thankfully this one was a move of about one-half mile within the village. But it was still weird, unsettling, and a lot of work.

When I was young and we moved, the company paid for it, so a giant Allied Moving semi would pull up outside the house. Next, a locust plague of movers and packers would descend armed with boxes, tape, packing materials, and crazy energy. They would blow through the house packing everything in sight.

If the dog sat still too long, she got boxed up. The truck was then loaded, and we all climbed into the Olds Vista Cruiser (a real-world Family Truckster) and zoomed off to meet the truck at the new house.

And of course, the same crew unloaded and unpacked with the same verve. Sometimes you’d find the same detritus in the ash trays as they packed them and unpacked them, but never emptied them.

This time, we moved one carload at a time over a 12-week period, ending with a crew of moving pros finishing the job and handling the really heavy stuff and so, at age 58, I think I’m finally staying put. But then again, who knows; aliens could land tomorrow.

The thing about moving is that each time you do it, you get a fresh start. New schools, new towns, new doctors and dentists, new jobs, new friends, and new experiences.

After a bit, you realize that change is hard but has a great deal of possibility woven into it. When you start out, your world is small, bordered by what you see every day and the people in your life.

As you age and gain experience, you begin to see that the world is both much smaller in some ways and vastly bigger in others. There are different ways to do things depending on where you live. Celebrating Christmas is a different experience if you’re in LA versus Altamont. Getting to school is very different in Monroeville, Pennsylvania than it is in Vestal, New York.

And, once you’re on your own, working and living is not the same in Pawling, New York as it is in Amsterdam, New York. Small town versus small city versus big city yields a very different set of experiences.

It changes your point of view and pretty much forces you to open your mind to new things. When I was in my early 20s, going into Manhattan on business or dining out there was normal. In my 30s, going out to eat in Schenectady was normal as was walking my son to school every day. In my 40s, I worked for myself mostly and drove thousands of miles all over the region fixing computers for people.

Nowadays, I work a few days a week for a web company, building and maintaining websites all over the internet. I can work literally from anywhere, but I go into the office because it’s nice to hang out with other humans.

The rest of the time we see the grandbabies, walk, work on the new house, and still go out to eat, mostly in Schenectady. Come spring, I’ll be back out on my bikes and working on bikes, mowing the lawn, and working on the new house.

And the thing is, having lived in lots of places, worked many jobs, and done some traveling, I’m now quite content with my not terribly exciting daily life.

I’m content because having seen the alternatives; I realize that a quiet life in Altamont is a very nice thing. Had I spent my whole life here, I might feel differently, perhaps less than fulfilled.

And this is why moving is probably not a bad thing, in hindsight. Had you asked me how I felt about it when I was young, I would have complained bitterly about new schools, new houses, having to make new friends and how hard it all was.

And for that person then, it was all true. Now, decades later, I see the positives, though it did take a while to get here.

I know the old saw about change being the only constant in life, but there is such a thing as both too much change and truly negative change. People need to feel safe in order to be comfortable and to grow. But if you throw too much change at a person, they stress out and devolve.

Think about what we’ve all had to deal with in the past four years between political unrest, an attempted coup, pandemics, economic uncertainty, working from home, home schooling, vaccines, high gas prices suddenly plummeting and egg prices skyrocketing. I’m darn glad I’m not a professional baker, that’s all I can say.

When you get down to it, moving a lot made dealing with all the current craziness a little easier. You look at each thing a little less emotionally and realize that it will all pass eventually.

In my lifetime thus far, this country has been through at least four wars, multiple economic cycles from boom to bust, Reagan, Bush, Nixon, Clinton, Bush again, Carter, Obama and of course our previous clown in chief.

Now we have a guy quietly going about repairing damage, managing crises, and making the country better than he found it. He won’t be the greatest president we’ve ever had, but he’ll be far from the worst, who we just had. If you’ve been around the block a couple times, you know what I mean.

So, welcome to the new year. I hope it’s a good one for all of us. Take a deep breath, fasten your seatbelts, put your tray tables in the upright position, and let’s try to avoid a zombie apocalypse. I really don’t want to move again, especially across a dystopian hellscape. It’s really hard to find a good mechanic in those.
 

Editor’s note: Michael Seinberg moved to Altamont on PTA Garage Sale Day in 1993. He says that, if you know him and his wife, you know it was appropriate.

Rod Serling’s classic sixties supernatural/horror/science fiction TV series “The Twilight Zone” is one of my favorite programs of all time. This show was so well written and performed that it still holds up well today.

It was filmed in glorious black and white, and the iconic theme song has become a cultural icon, often played or hummed when anything strange is about to happen. I watch the show whenever I can, even though I’ve seen them all many times.

In fact, the episode “Room for One More, Honey” is so chilling and frightening that I still get goosebumps every time I see it. Why am I mentioning all this? Well, the other night I found myself in The Twilight Zone. Really. Here’s what happened.

It was the weekend of my 45th high school reunion, so we had to drive to Queens. For many years, when my parents lived in Brooklyn, we made this trip six or more times a year. Well, they have not lived there for a long time. Plus, with COVID, we have just not gone to “the city” in several years. So this trip was my first time heading downstate in a long while. I thought I knew what to expect. Not.

When you live in the same area, you notice things changing. A new Starbucks, a change of ownership at a car dealership, a resurfaced road, etc. Conversely, when you haven’t been to a place in a long time, you may be surprised by all that has changed when you go back.

Driving down the Thruway, everything was fine until we went over the Tappan Zee — oh sorry, I mean the Governor Mario M. Cuomo — bridge. Once we crossed, it was readily apparent that things were not the same.

The ramps were different, the lanes you needed to be in for the various exits were different, and it was confusing. I had insisted I didn’t need GPS to drive to my old high school, but I admit I had to take some of its advice.

Overall, the changes are for the better. Lot’s of fresh new roadway, many new building facades, etc. I’m sure, once I get used to it, I’ll like it. Good excuse to go down again soon (though my lovely wife is not as crazy about going down there as I am, unfortunately).

The reunion itself was fine. They had our 1977 yearbook photos on the wall. It’s amazing looking at the photo of the person from back then, and then looking at them now, myself included, haha.

Where did all my thick black hair go? Why is my waist so big now?

But it’s all good, getting older and more mature. I actually like not being in a hurry anymore, and not caring anymore what anyone thinks of me. I can relax for once. Feels great.

Originally, we were going to stay in the city overnight and then do some fun things the next day. Turns out that next day was the day of the New York City Marathon.

If you think it’s congested and full of traffic in the city normally, it’s just exponentially worse when they have major roadways and bridges closed off for the big race.

I read “The Power Broker,” Robert Caro’s excellent Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of Robert Moses, the guy who designed and built virtually all the roads, tunnels, and bridges in New York City, so I have some idea about the whys behind many of the city’s gnarly traffic problems.

That’s why we decided to drive back late that same night instead of staying over. The marathon won this bout for sure.

So now we’re driving home on the Thruway. I always like to drop in at Stew Leonard’s in Yonkers whenever I’m down there. It’s just a great combination mega-grocery store and an interesting destination in its own right.

In my mind, I can remember the big red letters on their huge silo that said OPEN UNTIL 10 PM EVERY DAY. However, things really do change, as when we passed there around 9:30 p.m., they were closed. Rats.

Had I known that, I would have driven home through New Jersey, which is actually 10 miles shorter. Just goes to show, if you haven’t been somewhere for a number of years, don’t assume things are going to be the same as they were.

As my wife and I were, ahem, contemplating my decision to go to Stew Leonard’s, I flew right by the rest area with the gas station I needed. I had been meaning to stop, since we were down to one bar on the gas gauge.

It indicated we had about 30 miles of range left. When my wife realized I’d screwed this up too, let’s just say I heard about it. In detail.

The thing is, I hadn’t found a convenient time to get gas, counting on the fact that I could always find some on the Thruway on the way home. But, after missing the rest area, I was in no way sure another rest area with gas would be there in 30 miles.

So I decided to get off at the next exit. My wife used the phone to find gas stations. There was one west. It was closed. We turned around because the GPS said there was another one east. It was also closed.

Rats, again. The tension, as they say, could be cut with a knife.

Now, let me say right here I have no problem with getting lost. Why? Because sooner or later you always find the right way and, especially when it’s a nice day and you’re on the motorcycle, you can discover some really nice roads and places you never would have found otherwise.

But this was well after 10 p.m. on a dark Saturday night, where we still had quite a ways to go and possibly not even enough gas to get to an open gas station. Yikes. No fun at all.

So I took charge. Disregarding the GPS, I found a main road and just decided to head west. My reasoning was we were only a little bit north of the city, so by going west I knew we’d hit some kind of town at some point.

Yes, by this point, that town had to be within about 20 miles, so I was taking a chance, but you need a little excitement every so often, right?

If you watched any episodes of “The Twilight Zone,” you know that a frequent plot device was some kind of isolated place, like a bus station, restaurant, or saloon, with no one around.

So one minute we are on the always busy Thruway, in the midst of bright lights and lots of traffic. The next minute, we are barreling down this pitch black road into murky darkness, heading to who knows where.

Then, out of nowhere, a convenience store with two gas pumps. Whew, that was close.

The minute we pulled in, I knew it was strange. You know how gas stations have those huge iron manhole covers that hide the filler necks for the gas tanks? Normally, they are far away from the pumps.

At this place, they were right beside the pumps. So we had to absorb clanky bump-bumps as we drove up to, and then around the pumps.

Why around? Because two were obviously non-working, with bags taped over the nozzles. The other two looked OK, so I got out. This is when I knew I was in The Twilight Zone.

First of all, it was eerily quiet. You could hear a pin drop, I’m not kidding. In fact, I thought I could hear my wife’s teeth chattering, from the shock of the tank covers and the overall stress of everything.

Then there was the air, or lack of it. The air was so still you had to breathe hard to get some in. Everything is different at night, I know, but this was really taking it to the next level.

Then I looked over at the store itself. There was a blinking neon sign that said “Wally World.” Err, OK.

The door was open, the counter was visible, but there was no one there. The neon sign and the dim lights over the gas pumps provided the only light in the area.

Other than that, it was pitch black, the blackest night I’ve seen in a long, long time. Yikes, again.

I fed in my credit card and, thankfully, the pump was working. As I pumped I imagined:

— Someone walking out of the shadows, with a dusty cap and a flintlock rifle, who somehow got transferred in time from the Civil War;

— The store being full of people who were waiting for a bus to pick them up, after being assured the bridge was not out. Or was it still out?;

— Getting back into the car and seeing a completely different woman there, going into shock when I tell her I don’t know who she is.

Yes, it really was The Twilight Zone at that strange, isolated gas station in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night with the crazy name. Perhaps, if I’d gone into the store to pay with cash, I’d have discovered that Wally World was actually a portal to another dimension.

Being that I had to go to church the next day, I’m sure glad I had the credit card to pay at the pump and keep me in this dimension, haha.

After gassing up, the rest of the trip home was uneventful. I’ve never been so thankful for a tank of gas as I was then, let me tell you.

I promised my wife I’d make sure to gas up before any long trips in the future. Since then, I’ve always stopped for gas when she asks, I mean orders, me to fill up, and I’ve not complained.

We’re not spring chickens anymore and running out of gas always sucks, no matter how old you are, whether you wind up in The Twilight Zone or not. I like long walks as much as anyone, but I don’t like being forced to do them.

In one “Twilight Zone” episode, all the people on earth are slowly being replaced by their exact duplicates from another dimension. Imagine if when Frank — err, sorry, I mean I — got back in the car, it was really his, oops, I mean my, exact double? How weird would that be? I’m sure glad that didn’t happen.

I love meeting new people because all people are interesting in one way or another. Truly, meeting new people adds spice to life, just like hot sauce on chili.

The best is when I get to meet an Interesting Person. That’s like winning the game for me. But what makes for an Interesting Person? Fair question.

Let’s start with what makes a person not interesting. Imagine it’s blistering hot and sweltering humid. You know, like a typical day in Florida. If someone comes up to you and says “Hot enough for ya?,” you can be sure that is not an Interesting Person.

An Interesting Person knows it is indeed hot enough, and that there is no reason to ask such an obvious question. Trust me: If it’s hot enough for you, it’s hot enough for me.

If you are a teacher of any kind, you are automatically an Interesting Person. You know in your heart that children are the future, and you know in that regard that you have great responsibility.

However, when you see kids who are obviously having problems at home, or kids with ridiculously demanding parents, or school districts with no funding, it just breaks your heart. If all that doesn’t make you interesting, nothing will.

Any kind of musician or singer is an Interesting Person. While we all love music, it’s the ones who put in the endless hours of practice to do it well that make it possible for us to enjoy it in the first place. Since I’ve started to play a little, I have a newfound respect for anyone who plays anything.

In the same vein, the confidence of a singer who goes out there and bleeds from the heart is truly awe-inspiring. Musicians are by default Interesting Persons.

A lot of us have hobbies. Some common ones are gardening, woodworking, and model railroading. Having a hobby is pretty ordinary, but some people take their hobbies to the next level.

I had a friend who had a large, tiered garden that was so fantastic he could have charged admission. I have other friends who build fantastic woodworking projects, and others who create intricate and detailed model railroads. To spend so much time and money on your hobby like that, where you are really devoted to it, makes you an Interesting Person in my mind.

If you are lucky, you have some friends who really get into cooking and entertaining. I know a couple who just “whip together” gourmet meals and baked goods like it was nothing. They make it look so easy, I wonder why we don’t do it in my house (probably because it’s not that easy).

These people do it up right: the proper place settings and serving ware, elegantly simple yet tasteful recipes, pairing the wine, etc. Plus their house looks like it could be in a magazine. When you can cook, clean, and entertain like that — and make it look so easy — you are interesting for sure.

If you’ve been reading my column for any length of time you know that I love to read. I’ve been averaging a book a week for many years, and I wish I had time to read even more. If you love to read as well, you are automatically an Interesting Person.

Why? Because, by reading and getting others’ perspectives on anything and everything, you will be better able to consider and hopefully understand the many nuances that are part of life. You’re the kind of person who knows that it’s not all black and white, but infinite shades of gray. Yes you, the voracious reader, are the very definition of an Interesting Person, and I heartily salute you.

I love this quote from H. Jackson Brown Jr., the author of “Life’s Little Instruction Book”: “Never make fun of someone who speaks broken English. It means they know another language.”

Being multilingual makes for a very interesting person indeed. Because different languages use different thought constructs and word patterns, people who speak another language literally think differently.

Don’t even get me started on tonal languages like Mandarin. Imagine what thinking in that language must be like. If you can speak more than one language, or translate, you are not only interesting but in high demand. Good for you.

Motorcycle riders are very interesting. I’ve met a ton of them and I can say without doubt that every motorcycle rider out there is just a friend I haven’t met yet.

If I go to a party and meet another motorcycle rider, I’m good for the rest of the evening. Everyone has their own reasons for riding, and I never get tired of talking about it.

If you’ve gotten soaked or crashed or broken down somewhere, or just felt like you were flying through the air with the sun at your back and the wind in your face, you have my undivided attention, always.

Artists, I don’t care what the medium is, are interesting. That someone can be so creative is just amazing. The enjoyment of art, prose, music, sculpting, photography, etc., is what makes life worth living.

It’s not always easy for creative people to be creative, because they simultaneously have to come up with some way to pay the bills while doing it. I find creative people to be very interesting, and I’m glad to share the world with them.

I don’t believe in war and prefer diplomacy first, always. Having said that, I do find our dedicated military personnel to be interesting by default, and I heartily thank them for their service. I can’t imagine what being in combat must be like.

Same goes for police, fire, rescue, etc. It’s dangerous, stressful work but someone has to do it. I’m sure they all have their stories, many of which we’d have a hard time even imagining. Those are surely interesting people.

I avoid any medical TV shows or stories, and I try to stay out of doctors’ offices as much as I can. That’s the main reason I try to exercise every day.

Still, I know health care professionals have it tough, which makes them interesting people. My daughter is a nurse, and what she goes through on a daily basis is just unreal.

Any time you’re dealing with life and death is, at the very least, interesting in many ways. My hat is off to all the overworked medical professionals out there, especially in this awful COVID period that never seems to end.

If you are a small-business owner, you know all about struggling through ups and downs, trying to pay all your bills, endless regulations, theft (both internal and external), and so many other things that come with the territory.

I’m so inspired when small-business owners put their heart and soul into it, for our benefit. That is interesting and worthy of our admiration, certainly. Thanks to you all.

I grew up in the city, so I don’t have firsthand knowledge of farming. I know that farming now is done by big corporations, yet some family farms still survive.

If you are a farmer, you know you are totally dependent on the weather, and that there is no such thing as a day off because the work never stops. Truly, farming families that work so hard and strive to keep it going are interesting in many ways. They are the heart and soul of the country. My hat is off to them.

Finally, let me end with some very interesting people, judges. I don’t know about you, but many times both sides of the story make sense to me, making it very difficult choosing which way to go.

Like, is it OK to eat the last endangered animal if you’re starving? Judges train to make these decisions in as fair a manner as possible, keeping the law in mind and yet trying to have a heart at the same time.

I admire judges very, very much. That kind of work can’t be easy, and it certainly makes them very interesting people.

In looking over this list, it seems most of the people I find interesting are people who work. How interesting, pardon the pun.

Maybe because I’ve been in the workforce for 50 years and am finally approaching retirement has something to do with it. In any case, I just know that people who get up every day to support themselves and their families are the lifeblood of this country, and will always have my utmost admiration and respect.

Hot enough for ya?